


Platt

by Dryad



Series: Scenes From a Murder Investigation [2]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Gen, Mytharc, NC17, casefile, may be triggering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-31
Updated: 2012-12-31
Packaged: 2017-11-23 03:51:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/617770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dryad/pseuds/Dryad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This section very slightly changed from version on Gossamer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Platt

**~*~**

Three hours in and Harrison Platt was already on the verge of tearing  
out his hair, streaking through the hotel lobby, punching Lengel, or  
doing something equally inviting of a disciplinary hearing. He  
glanced at the Spookster and wondered if there was going to be any  
chance of a break before the mid-morning soda-coffee-cigs-donuts run.  
He was hoping to either volunteer or tag along with whomever made  
the run, because, honestly, he was going to either lose his mind or his  
breakfast if he had to keep looking at this shit.

One more day on this fucking case. One more day out of a slew of 'one  
more days'.

Days like this and the fantasies of bringing the UNSUB to court in the  
midst of flashing bulbs and microphones being stuck in his face  
seemed like nothing more than the dream of some ignorant child.

Yeah, they'd told him. Quantico was no place for wusses, and he, like  
everyone else, had been full of themselves and what they were going  
to achieve in the organization by the time he'd graduated. Running  
through previous casefiles, especially those from ViCAP, had been  
exciting, not downright terrifying. Maybe it was because most of  
them had been solved. Or maybe it was because working those cases  
didn't involve people who were soon to be dying if he didn't get things  
right the first time around.

So now he understood why the instructors at Quantico had  
sometimes looked at he and his fellow students with a mixture of pity  
and disdain and regret, the looks that read: _Poor schmucks, don't  
know what the hell they're letting themselves in for_.

No shit.

Platt sighed and surreptitiously looked around the room. No one was  
putting on a jacket or wandering here and there with pen and paper  
in hand, taking snack orders. Agent Mulder had grabbed an enlarger  
and was now peering even more closely at one particular photo. Platt  
didn't see anything they hadn't already covered in-depth.

Sophie Fuchs, 29, beaten to death by a blunt instrument, probably a  
crow-bar or something similar. DeVawn Fuchs, 30, no more than a  
curiously stained lump of blue hoodie against the south wall,  
practically unrecognizable as something human. The imprints of  
boot soles against his flesh had been, in the most fucked up of ways  
imaginable, gratefully received by the crime scene techs.

Platt had never seen anything like it, and hoped to God he never  
would again. Which was ridiculous, considering which department  
of the FBI he was working in.

Having said that, the position in Computer Crimes was beginning to  
look more and more appealing. But if he transferred in the middle of  
working his first case, what was that going to say about him? That he  
couldn't handle 'real' crime? That he was weaker than Hawkes? That  
he didn't have the stomach for shit? That he would be a Fucking New  
Guy for the rest of his career?

Thinking like this wasn't going to get him anywhere fast, of that he  
was certain. He started chugging the remainder of his Jolt, and was  
almost done when someone slapped him hard on the back. Inhaling in  
surprise, he immediately started to choke.

"Hey, come on, don't do this to me, Platt. We still need your  
chickenshit ass on this assignment."

Wheezing and coughing, tears rolling down his cheeks, Platt turned  
around to see Tyler grinning at him. Very fucking funny.

"You have something for me, Agent Tyler?" Mulder said, eying Platt  
at the same time.

"Nah. I was hoping you'd have something new for me, actually."

"I'm thinking that all of the standards we use for MO don't apply,"  
Mulder said. He motioned towards the photo. "While this was a  
motive of opportunity, the location had been scouted before - "

"Shit, we already know this. Put it on the line."

Mulder shook his head. "I'm not prepared to do that at this stage."

"Doesn't seem to have stopped you before."

Platt cautiously took in a deep breath, wary of the tickle in the back of  
his throat threatening to send him into another bout of coughing.  
When he refocused on what was happening, he felt like a kid caught  
between bickering parents. Tyler had this belligerent sneer on his  
face, while Mulder stared back impassively. Platt had known Mulder  
for all of three days, and it wasn't difficult to see why he had the  
reputation of being an arrogant asshole. The flip side was that he was  
also a genius.

"Think whatever you want, Agent Tyler," Mulder said, turning back  
and searching for another photo.

Please God someone go for a snack run.

Tyler snorted and stalked away.

After a good five minutes of shuffling papers and sharpening pencils,  
Platt ventured, "So, uh, does that mean you have something?"

"Nothing concrete," Mulder mumbled.

Platt pursed his lips and nodded.

Okay.

Whatever.

You wanna keep your cards close to your chest.

Fine.

He leaned back and clasped his hands together low on his belly, toed  
his chair in a circle. The room, a long rectangular box that had this  
weird half-glass wall at one end, leaving a narrow hallway beyond  
the door, had beige carpeting and stark white walls. Desks and metal  
folding tables topped with laptops and files in various colors lined the  
walls, while paper and charts littered ever surface. The proverbial  
organized chaos. Tyler, Vostok, and Relman had gathered around the  
coffee station, laughing at something or another, but apart from them,  
Mulder, and himself, the room was depressingly empty. He preferred  
to be here when it was busy, when it seemed like they were making  
progress.

Platt felt the hair on the back of his neck stir and swung the chair  
around. A woman in a charcoal gray suit had entered the hallway,  
the door swinging on well-oiled hinges behind her. He hadn't seen  
that shade of red since, what, third grade? What had they called that  
kid, carrottop? Nice figure, though. No, scratch that, fantastic figure.

He nudged Mulder's arm. "Hey Mulder, check her out. Think she's the  
new secretary?"

Mulder looked up, then gave him a sour look. "No."

Christ on a fucking crutch, of course he would read the mood wrong.  
Certainly explained why Mulder never shot the shit with Tyler and  
the rest. Who knew, maybe he was gay.

"Yo, Agent Platt," Vostok called. "We're outta donuts."

Thank god.

**~*~ fin ~*~**


End file.
